Naked Reverence
by Iniga
Summary: After the second war, and her first meeting with Andromeda in a quarter-century, Narcissa talks to her husband about things they don’t understand. About a month after DH. One shot. Complete.


_**Disclaimer**__: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling; various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made (well, lots of money is being made, but none by me) and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

When Narcissa returned to the Manor, she went straight to her bedroom without so much as checking to see if Lucius or Draco was home. She desperately sought the familiar, and bedroom was the only part of the house that hadn't been altered beyond recognition by the past two years. It was also the part of the house that would be least altered by her current designs.

She was in the process of refurbishing the Manor to eliminate reminders of the Dark Lord's presence. By summer's end, the Manor would present a vision of a simple lifestyle, advertising to all that the Malfoys were not so different from their inferiors. Still, she couldn't move too quickly; if she did, the Ministry officials who managed to pay her a visit several times each day would think she was hiding something. Neither could she move too slowly; if she did, her husband and son would find themselves ostracized by the new regime.

So each day, small things vanished, appeared, or altered. First to go had been the goblets designed by the Dark Lord himself. They had been highly impractical things that needed to be set in stands instead of directly on the table, shaped as they were like a woman's breast. _A testament to the pinnacle of pureblood femininity_, the Dark Lord had said. _A reminder that those who stand beside me shall have the best of everything. _

The goblets been impressively large, and their curving shape was quite perfect. Narcissa had learned a bit about perfect breasts by possessing a pair of her own. Her mother had endowed all three of her daughters with perfect breasts—although Azkaban had rather ruined Bellatrix's great good looks. Still, a quick glance toward the head of the dining table, longing yet coquettish, had once confirmed to Narcissa that her elder sister had indeed been the model for the goblets. Thankfully, Bella had chosen not the share the details of the goblets' creation with Narcissa.

In the goblets' place were the most ordinary glasses Narcissa had found available for purchase. They were devoid of all embellishment and would remind everyone who sipped from them that the Malfoy family led an uncomplicated, unadorned life.

That day's project, which had been interrupted by the unexpected appearance of Andromeda Tonks, had been the removal of all dress robes and cloaks from the wardrobes. They would need to make do with plain for the foreseeable future. She had laughed a bit when she'd found and destroyed the ceremonial breastplate Lucius had been given as a wedding present by a French cousin, but most of the disposals had been far more painful. The gown she had worn on her first wedding anniversary had been altered beyond all recognition; it had been embroidered with Dark symbols which would raise Ministry eyebrows in this new world.

Now she exchanged her plain black robe for a silky blue nightgown. Her nightclothes had been spared the merciless massacre that had decimated the rest of her wardrobe. The Ministry had searched her bedroom before and would surely search it again, but negligees that had never been intended for the eyes of anyone but her husband were far less damning than robes that had been meant to be worn in public for the express purpose of emphasizing her superiority.

Relishing the feel of one of the few beautiful things that would not desert her in ensuing weeks, she lay facedown on the bed, trying not to look at the snake-shaped bedposts she would have to transfigure into something not associated with the Dark Lord.

She twisted to sit up when she heard Lucius enter.

"Stay there." She stayed, and was hard-put to hide her startled shiver when his hand came to rest on her bare upper thigh. They had shared only perfunctory physical contact since before the death of the Dark Lord, and none of it had been remotely intimate. It was difficult to turn one's thoughts to romance when one was under constant surveillance and in and out of jail.

Once her initial surprise passed, she realized with relief mitigated by disappointment that while Lucius' hand was warm on her leg, his touch was clinical and detached. "What happened?" he asked. It was only then that she took note of the hideous yellow-purple bruise marring her otherwise flawless skin. "Are you hurt?"

This time, she didn't stop herself from sitting up and tugging at the hem of her nightgown to hide the discoloration. "I'm not hurt. I hadn't realized it left a mark."

"_What_ left a mark? Who?" The change in inflection was small, but Narcissa heard it. Anyone with the mental capacity of a house-elf could have heard it. Lucius didn't have to raise his voice to threaten or be obeyed. At least, he hadn't back when he'd had the power to command and demand. Lately he didn't bother because he knew he could do little to back up his words, and so did everyone else. "Did someone do this to you?"

"I banged it on one of those horrid carts at Gringotts."

"What were you doing there? We agreed to the Ministry's _request_ that we not remove any of our assets." Reassured, he tossed his cloak over the back of a chair and deposited himself on the bed beside her.

There were a hundred things Lucius needed to be told about her day. He had to know that she'd spoken to Andromeda for the first time in a quarter-century. He had to know that Andromeda had threatened to volunteer testimony that Draco had cast the Cruciatus Curse on her. He had to know that Andromeda had known perfectly well that they'd lingered on the fringes of her daughter's funeral for the sake of appearances. He had to know that she had provided yet another service to the useless brat Harry Potter. He had to know that she had opened the Lestranges' vault and allowed the Ministry to confiscate its contents without a word of protest.

If she failed to tell him, someone else would do it in the hopes of making a mockery of a man who had recently been one of the most influential in Britain. Information was power whether you were down or up, and nothing made a fool of a man so much as not knowing what his wife was doing.

What she said, though, was low on the list of things Lucius could possibly need to know. "Anna's grandson is a shapeshifter."

Even under the circumstances, it was a mark of how exhausted Lucius must have been that he asked "Anna who?"

"My sister. Andromeda. Tonks." She wrinkled her nose a bit at the Muggle surname.

"I haven't heard you call her your sister since… it was before we were dating, at least. I distinctly remember that on our first official date I mentioned her and you nearly tore my head off, told me you had one sister and that was Bellatrix." Narcissa turned her head to the side at the mention of Bellatrix, so recently dead. Lucius, who had stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes, gave no sign that he noticed. "The werewolf cub's a Metamorphmagus?" he continued.

"He looked too healthy to be a werewolf. His hair was ginger when he and Anna showed up, but he took one look at me and turned it blond."

Lucius chuckled appreciatively. "Good taste, at least. Perhaps his blood is telling. He's only a few generations removed from proper wizards, no matter what his parents may have been."

Narcissa murmured something noncommittal. "How was your day?"

She felt him stiffen beside her. Even without looking at him, she could see the new lines on his face and the not-quite-hidden dark circles beneath his eyes. Picking up the pieces after a war was tiring, stressful work, and more so if you'd lost. At last, he answered. " I tried to call in favors to see how strong a case they have against Draco and me. I got absolutely nowhere, of course. If any of these fools think I won't remember this, they actually _are_ as stupid as they look."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"Nor would I. It appears that you had the more intelligent company today." Narcissa knew that Lucius did not mean that he thought Andromeda clever. He merely meant that even a pureblood girl stupid enough to marry a mudblood boy currently stood higher in his estimation than his former business partners. "What in Merlin's name were you doing with Andromeda?"

Lucius had to know, and now was as good a time as any to discuss it even if Narcissa wanted to put the whole mess from her mind. "Anna turned up with no warning a few hours ago with the baby on her hip. She informed me in no uncertain terms that she would tell anyone who would listen that Draco put the Cruciatus Curse on her the day the Ministry fell last year."

Lucius sat upright with a quickness that belied his earlier languor. "He didn't! I'm sure of it. He doesn't like that curse, never has, half the time he freezes before he can cast it. And I highly doubt that Bella would have shared such a prize as Andromeda with Draco—Andromeda's never even met Draco properly, she can't have recognized him when he was wearing a mask."

Narcissa felt an unexpected surge of love for her husband. Their marriage had always had a solid element of partnership, even now as they were too weary even to look at each other amidst the ruins of their life, but affection came and went. She'd been angry with him for what seemed like years; she couldn't help but blame him for the pain his choices had cost Draco. Now, as he openly defended their son, the rush of fondness made her breath catch in her throat.

Draco chose that moment to knock on the open door to his parents' bedroom. "Mother? Father? I'm leaving for the Parkinsons' party now."

Draco couldn't have looked less like a teenager who _wanted_ to go to a party if he'd tried. Narcissa winced inwardly at the sight of his unadorned black robes. She hated to see Draco dressed plainly at least as much as she hated dressing herself plainly. Worse than the robes was the pale, unsmiling face. Draco was more gladiator ready to go into battle than young man ready for a laugh.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to," she said before she could stop herself. Members of the Order of the Phoenix who had personally killed dozens of parents, children, friends because they wore Death Eater robes refused to shake her hand—her hand, that had never once cast the killing curse. The Parkinsons might have been convinced to extend an invitation to Draco by their daughter, but the majority of the guests were going to sneer and revel in Draco's newly precarious position. And Draco clearly knew as much.

"It would be wise to attend nonetheless," Lucius injected, careful not to directly contradict Narcissa. "We won't be receiving many small kindness for the foreseeable future. This party will be a valuable opportunity to remind your cohorts not to count you out too soon. It's not an invitation to take for granted."

"I understand that, Father," Draco answered calmly, and there was a shadow of amusement and maturity in his eye. "I don't want to attend, but I will be attending." He looked at his watch; a simple one, of course, not the spectacular one Narcissa had commissioned specially from an artists' enclave in Switzerland for his seventeenth birthday. "I'll be back when it's over."

"Or after you've stood as much as you can," Narcissa modified.

"When it's over," Draco repeated, a little proudly.

"We'll have something special at breakfast tomorrow, to make it up," Narcissa promised her son's retreating back.

"We have more pressing concerns than his favorite breakfast, or even this party," Lucius growled once Draco was out of earshot. "How much trouble do you expect Andromeda to be?"

"None," said Narcissa coolly. "It's been taken care of. We are, I believe, in a slightly better position as a result of her visit."

"Oh?" The vigorous fury vanished as suddenly as it had come. Lucius' face was a cool, emotionless mask once more.

She nodded and continued her story. "When Bella married Rodo, his family put their vault in her name with the expectation that the Dark Lord might use it from time to time. They used Anna and me to seal the blood spells. _The Boy Who Lived_," and a hint of sarcasm rolled from her tongue, "got himself thrown inside, and of course the only person in the world who could help Anna rescue him was me. I helpfully obliged, and the Chosen One now owes me his life twice over."

Lucius had no outward reaction to this most impressive feat. He was as still and aloof as if he were listening to a not-very-interesting commentary on the weather. Narcissa plunged on anyway.

"I can't be positive his wits are about him enough to know what happened. The contents of the vault may have had some ill effects. He did _not_ look well when the door opened, but that's hardly _my_ fault. Dozens of the leading blood traitors were there to see that."

Even the news that the hero of the Second War might have defeated the Dark Lord only to suffer permanent incapacitation in a Gringotts vault the next month didn't prompt so much as a twitch from Lucius. Narcissa knew well the importance of playing one's cards close to one's vest, but this was simply a poor performance on the part of the audience. The stresses of the day—from the dismantling of her home to the appearance of Andromeda to the reminders of Bella to the awful look on Draco's face—launched a fresh assault against her. Belatedly, she realized that as much as she had dreaded reliving the day for Lucius, she had also been excited to see his reaction.

But as he had no reaction, she simply finished her tale. "As long as the vault was open, I told the Ministry representatives that as Bella's sole heiress I was more than pleased to let them confiscate the contents of the vault and study them as they would. There wasn't another option."

He nodded. Narcissa supposed she appreciated that her husband had at least paid enough attention to her account of the day's events to agree that she had, indeed, made the right decision.

She also supposed she wanted more. The world was full of people who didn't want to touch her, didn't want to look at her, and didn't want to speak to her. She could find cool disregard anywhere. But that sudden fire in Lucius' eyes when he'd been afraid Andromeda would offer testify against Draco—that was rare and precious.

"I've decided I'd like to re-own Andromeda," she declared loftily. She didn't admit to herself that she chose to make this pronouncement less because she had naturally spent some hours that day wondering what her life might have been like had it included her sister, and more because it had a certain inherent shock value.

"Why?"

"She's my sister," said Narcissa, because if she had craftily listed out the ways that association with Andromeda would benefit them socially and financially, all of the shock value would have vanished. _Evanesco_.

The tiniest hint of a smile slipped through Lucius' still features. "You're just missing Bella."

So he _had_ noticed how she'd saddened when he'd first mentioned Bella. He was watching her carefully, through lazy half-shut eyes, taking in all she said and did and not sharing a thought in return.

Sometimes when Lucius behaved this way, she found it attractive. It reminded her how capable and clever he was.

Sometimes when Lucius behaved this way, she found herself perfectly indifferent. Often, she cared little what Lucius was hiding. She hardly needed to know the exact history of every galleon in her vault.

At the moment, she found herself neither attracted nor indifferent to her husband.

"I do miss Bella. Nonetheless, I think we should have Andromeda and her grandson around next week. Once a month thereafter." She wasn't sure she thought such a thing at all, but the idea wasn't nearly as repulsive as it would have been short days before.

"Well, with the mudblood husband and the werewolf son-in-law dead, we can tell any of our crowd who need telling that her inappropriate associations are now at a minimum and that you hope to help her regain the values she was born to. It won't convince them all, but under the circumstances it will be swallowed by most. The connection can only help us with the new ruling class, unless she sees or hears something she fancies problematic and reports it to her friends in Dumbledore's Order. If it pleases you, invite her." This analysis (and quite an accurate analysis it was, Narcissa admitted) was delivered in a virtual monotone.

"She's my sister. Does everything need to be evaluated in terms of potential political benefits?"

For the first time since he had learned that Draco was, for the moment, safe from being damned by his erstwhile aunt's testimony, Lucius' eyes flashed with life. "That_is_ why you've been angry with me for the past two years, isn't it, Narcissa? You don't think I planned appropriately? You can sulk because I took action without enough forethought, or you can feel put-upon because I do consider the possible consequences of our actions. You can't do both."

"I never sulked," said Narcissa sharply. Sulking had never become her. Waiting for the opportune moment to take corrective action was more her style.

Lucius' irritation was instantly mitigated by something Narcissa didn't recognize. She suppressed her thrill of fear at this unknown element; hiding emotions came as naturally to her as it did to her husband. Still, she nearly missed Lucius' response.

"No, you've never sulked. It gets one nowhere with people who matter, and your judgment is impeccable. I apologize."

"Thank you." She'd intended to thank him for the compliment to her judgment, and realized too late that it sounded as if she were thanking him for the apology. Malfoys didn't apologize (nor did Blacks, so they'd understood each other well before marriage in that manner at least). Drawing attention to an inadvertent apology was a horribly shaming thing to do, and what seemed like all of Britain was trying to shame them. They hardly needed to turn on each other.

"I mean," she added too hastily. "I think your judgment is impeccable as well."

The oddness intensified, and perhaps Lucius sensed something odd in her as well, because he sat suddenly on the bed and covered his face with his hands for a moment before he looked up and gestured that she should sit beside him. She did. "Let's have done with the good manners for today. We both know that I got us in, and you got us out—if we're out. You have Harry Potter indebted to you twice over, and you couldn't have chosen a better moment to lie to the Dark Lord. How Severus managed what he did for eighteen years, I'll never understand."

"The Dark Lord wasn't around to test him for most of those years."

"The Dark Lord tested him over and over, all day long sometimes. Severus must have been the greatest Occlumens who ever lived."

"Perhaps." About that, Narcissa didn't much care. Severus had probably saved both Draco's life and his soul, and that was as far as Narcissa's thoughts went. As soon as they were free to use their money publicly again, she intended to make certain that there were new flowers on his grave every day. She didn't know if he'd like that—who could say what Severus had really thought of anyone or anything—but it was all the plan she had.

"Bella was no slouch at Occlumency, and she couldn't lie to the Dark Lord, not for an instant."

"She didn't want to. She was in love with him."

"And damned if he didn't love her back." Narcissa arched her eyebrow in disbelief. "Well, something more like love than any of us expected was possible. You heard him scream when she died."

"Molly bloody Weasley," Narcissa spat. "Her oldest monster was at the bank today, sneering at me with the rest. As much as he can sneer without a face, that is. He's some of Greyback's finest work."

Lucius chuckled appreciatively, but his amusement was short-lived. "Severus beat him at his own game, and Bella had his love. I'm not sure which of those is more impressive. I, on the other hand, liked to fancy myself the third of his favorites, and first among them more often that not, and wound up with my son nearly killed and my wife spat at in the streets." He sounded bitter, and he must have realized it, because as soon as their eyes met, the bitterness was replaced by the intense strangeness of before. "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to separate yourself and Draco from me publicly, you know."

Narcissa startled. She had considered many possible routes for skirting the Ministry's punishments and protecting Draco, but she had never considered severing her ties to Lucius. "I can't imagine—I would never—" Speaking before she had found the right word, like sulking or apologizing, was something Narcissa made great effort never to do. "The last thing Draco and I intend to do is separate ourselves from you, publicly or otherwise."

Lucius' body jerked sharply toward her, bringing them closer together. Their eyes locked and stayed that way. "You amaze me," he said at last. "I always knew you were the most beautiful witch I would ever see. I knew you were clever and I knew you were skilled and I knew you were loyal. But until I lost everything we had, I don't think I understood how much."

That was when Narcissa realized what she'd sensed earlier and hadn't been able to place. It was love mixed with genuine admiration—no, more than that. It was naked reverence, something as unusual for a controlled, inscrutable man as an outraged shout of anguish had been from an inhuman Dark Lord.

"Severus," she began, "Was apparently the most accomplished Occlumens the world has ever seen, and he out-thought the Dark Lord. Bellatrix managed to pull a human emotion out of a wizard who hadn't been human for decades. And you—"

His face was an inch from hers, free of all masks and proprieties. Only wonder and rapture remained. "Yes?"

"You were the only one who survived. I believe that makes you the victor, Lucius." She closed the distance between them so that their lips met; it was their first real kiss in she couldn't remember how long.

"Apparently so," he murmured, still close enough that she felt his breath on her cheek. He lay back against the bed, pulling her back with him. This time, they lay facing one another with limbs entwined.

"We had a very good life the last time he fell," Narcissa reminded. "We will again." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed again the snake-shaped bedposts. She sighed. It wouldn't be easy to transfigure them, and it would be harder still to do so without destroying the integrity of the wood.

"What?"

She pointed at the snakes. "Do you care what shape I transfigure them to?"

He shook his head. "I don't think I could even pretend to care if I tried." One arm slipped out and pulled her closer. "Does it bother you greatly to change them?"

"No," she said, all honesty herself. _As long as I get to keep you_, she added silently. "I think I'll send Andromeda a proper gift for the baby. A proper expression of condolences for her husband and child as well."

"If you're certain."

"I am." She dropped her head to his shoulder so that her blond hair mingled with his. "You know, I knew Anna when we were growing up, but I have no idea who she is now. I know very little about what she thinks or what she likes what she does. I didn't understand why she would throw away her life to marry a mudblood then and I don't understand it now. But if the Dark Lord could grieve for Bella, I expect Anna can grieve for a mudblood. I don't understand it, but that doesn't mean she doesn't feel it. With her daughter dead, too…" Narcissa allowed herself a little shudder. "Losing both her husband and her only child is the worst thing I can imagine. Everything else will sort itself out."

"I'll remember that."

She closed her eyes, content amidst the ruins. "See that you do."

Fin.

_**Note**__: This is a side-story to my longer fic, __The Goblin, the Snitch, and the Werewolf__. If you're inclined to read that, it's on my author page. Andromeda and Narcissa's interaction is in chapter 15. Obviously, I don't think reading the longer fic is necessary to understand this one, or I would have put this note at the top of the page instead of at the bottom. :)_

_Now that this is out of my mind for better or for worse, perhaps I can actually finish the long fic?_

_I'd love a review if you read this far and you have a few seconds. Happy Valentine's Day!_

_**Other Note**: I received a review commenting that the tragedy of Bellatrix was that Voldemort was never going to love her or anyone else. I don't mean to deny that. JKR is omnipotent and omniscient as far as this world goes, but the characters who live in it are not (much as they would prefer that they were). Lucius' conclusion that maybe Voldemort had real, human feelings for Bellatrix is, according to his all-knowing creator, incorrect. He draws that conclusion anyway because he has imperfect information and has to work with what evidence he has, tempered by his own biases. I'm not saying he's right and JKR is wrong-- I'm just saying that, at that moment in time, that's what he thinks. _


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